


second afterglow

by Saraste



Series: Femslash February 2018 [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftercare, Cuddling, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February 2018, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 03:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Even in the afterglow, they can't keep their hands to themselves.





	second afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash February using prompt 15. pillowtalk from [this list.](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/lingeringmirth/170220761062)

Margaery likes to tease Sansa in the afterglow, when they are but a sated mess of limbs on a bed, tangled together body and mind, senses still scrambled and shivering.

‘You make such lovely noises when I pleasure you,’ Margaery says, drawing her hand up and down Sansa’s bare back, making her shiver and want to want, even when her body is utterly spent and would be sore. Delightfully sore, maybe, but sore nonetheless.

Sansa shifts under the hand, lets her own roam lazily, making Margaery press and move, the sheets shift and rustle. ‘Only because you make it so good.’

‘Was it good enough?’ Margaery asks, query and promise for more, if more is desired, if Sansa wants to go under.

‘It’s always good enough.’ And that is nothing but the truth, because Margaery never leaves Sansa wanting, always gives it to her so good. Yet...

Sansa touches Margaery where she still quivers, where she’s still wet and Margaery bites her lip, moaning. ‘Do  _ you  _ need more?’

Margaery presses against her hand, shifting against her as Sansa’s fingers touch with familiarity, seeking out all the best places even when she’s going blind. ‘Oh, you wicked thing,’ Margaery tosses her head, ‘I always want more when you offer it so eagerly.’

So Sansa does, bringing Margaery higher until there is no higher to go, until there is nothing but the crash down, the drowning in the almost-too-much bliss of release.

Sansa wants to be delightfully sore, to be under Margaery’s power, yet doesn’t want Margaery to need to bother, to make the effort, now that she’s so pliant and listless. Sansa curls against Margaery’s side and Margaery’s arm slides around her and there is no other sound but their breathing and the whisper of the ocean breeze coming in from the open window.

Finally, maybe eventually, Margaery speaks. Her voice is husky and content, but there is that edge in it that Sansa adores. ‘Do you want more?’ she says but means “need.” And oh, does Sansa need.

_ ‘Please?’  _ Sansa asks, pleads,  _ begs _ . 

Margaery puts her mouth on her, pushes down all Sansa’ restraints, all her defenses, and brings her to the edge of enough and past it until she’s pleasure drunk and so delightfully sore that it hurts, and she only knows the word that would put an end to it but doesn’t need to use it, because Margaery knows her limits so well, always takes care of her.

In their second afterglow, the beginning of which Sansa floats through knowing little of anything but Margaery’s anchoring presence which means safety, Margaery takes care of Sansa and pampers her, tucking her in and holding her close until Sansa surfaces, comes to herself little by little.

Margaery smiles at her, presses a kiss to her brow, whispering praise against her skin. Sansa feels a little tired and so very very relaxed. ‘Good?’ Margaery asks.

Sansa sighs, settles better in her arms, she still has time to go before her bath, she’s still too boneless for Margaery to move her that much. ‘Always with you,’ she replies, the three words which are the truth, every time.

  
  



End file.
